She vows silently to tell the stories to herself every night until she finds her way home, as much as she can remember. She won’t let Peter take them away from her, and with them, she’ll hold onto her mother too. As she moves to stand, her foot nudges her abandoned soup bowl. She scoops it up, tipping the bowl back and swallowing it all in one go, wincing as she does.

It’s gone cold, and worse, something catches and scrapes in her throat. She coughs, doubling over, and puts her hand to her mouth. Another violent cough expels a tiny stone into her palm. She stares at it, her eyes stinging and watering. Peter swoops to her side, thumping her back. She closes her fingers quickly, hiding the stone, and squints up at him. From this angle, he looks much taller, the shadows from the firelight carving into his face and changing its shape.

She blinks. Shadows and firelight. When did it get dark? She doesn’t remember the sun going down.

“All better,” he says. “Come along, Wendy. It’s time to play.” There’s no trace of anger, no disappointment either. He spins on his heel, all innocent joy as he skips away.

“I’m not Wendy, I’m—” But her name sticks in her throat like the stone, raw and scraping, and she coughs again.

The boys follow Peter, some eager, some dragging their feet. As he steps among the trees Peter seems to flicker, solid and real one moment, slipping out of the world the next. She squeezes the stone in her hand. She must keep trying to remember. Nothing here is what it seems. Peter may look like a regular boy, but in truth, he’s a dangerous thing. He may not be human at all.

5: Straight On ’Til Morning

STRAIGHT ON ’TIL MORNING

Wendy lands at dawn, both tired to the marrow of her bones and more awake and alive than she’s been in years. Her body aches as though she truly did fly all through the night, even though she knows time moves differently in Neverland. The sun rises and sets according to Peter’s whims; the weather changes with his moods. Days might pass with only the soft light of the moon and stars, or the sun might blaze high overhead for weeks at a time. And all the while, only an hour or two might go by in London.

How long has she been gone? Has Ned missed her yet? Has Mary? And what about Neverland? It’s been twenty-seven years for her, but how much time has passed here?